Hunted
by Skrawls
Summary: Regis, a halfling rogue, is always outrunning the law. But with the ever-growing bounty on his head, he finds himself living every second with the fear that his days are very much numbered.


Hunted

CHAPTER ONE: Keladrin

Regis Kal made his way into the town of Delgale, cloaked, with his face hidden under the shadow of his hood. It was dusk, with the sun just beginning to disappear over the land, and the streets of the town were beginning to quiet, for the townsfolk had knowledge of what transpired after sundown. But Regis stayed, for in the darkness, this wandering rogue was truly at home.

As the night began to win the battle over sunlight, Regis spotted the lantern's glow of the town inn. He paced towards it with the quiet patter only a halfling's feet could make. His stealth was his weapon, and by the gods did he use it well!

He entered the old inn, and the quiet darkness he knew from the streets before, turned into drunken shouts, lively folk music, and the slamming of ale onto wooden tables. Delgale, was a human dominated town, so the population of the inn was solely scruffy, drunken, and obnoxious ruffians, no place for a halfling like himself. Remaining hidden under his cloak, he sat himself down at a small, round table with one other empty seat. Here, Regis would wait for him.

After ten minutes or so of waiting, the innkeeper approached Regis's table. "what will it be?" The man was old, with a skull white hat of hair on his head, and a thin beard on his chin. Yet he had an intimidating, and fit stature, not someone to pick a bar fight with, even considering his age.

From under his cloak Regis spoke. "A shot of whisky sir." And without a word, the innkeeper was off to the back of the bar. He was alone with his thoughts once more. But not for more than five minutes, for after his drink was served, another cloaked figure paced through the doors of Delgale inn. He was a tall one, just over six feet, yet he did not have a hod over his head. Regis could clearly make out his elven traits from the moment he laid eyes on him. Long, thin blond hair, pointed ears, with many piercings on both of them. Regis's first impressions raced through his head. 'neatly presented, many piercings, his eyes speak the truth, he knows he feels out of his element. Probably another rich merchant trader looking for dirty work to be done. No doubt he is the one I am to meet here.' And sure enough, the graceful elf sat himself down beside Regis.

"So you are the one I am to speak with?" Regis asked. "yes. My name is Keladrin. I am here because I am aware of your reputation. And I seek...assistance." Keladrin assumed that Regis's silence meant for him to continue. "I am a merchant trader, and recently I have been at competition with another...umm...successful trader named Tores. But recently there has been news on the trade route of a new product, in very high demand. A magical concoction that, when drank, gives the user the feeling of power that isn't actually there, along with severe hallucinations. They feel invincible. And since Tores has been taking so much of my business, I cannot afford to purchase this item for my own vending! It is unbelievably expensive. But then I realized, buying your services is...much cheaper."

Regis smirked under his hood. "wise choice sir. Now what exactly do you want me to do?" The elf shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The surroundings were really starting to get to him. " I would like you to intercept his shipment of the product. He will be travelling through Battlem in three days time, probably passing through at sundown. Do whatever is necessary to hijack that caravan. If you are successful, bring the caravan to me in Port Salem. I will be waiting for you at the main docking station."

"I'll do it, five-hundred gold up front and five-hundred after the job is done. Is that to your liking Mr. Keladrin?" The elf hesitated, but shook Regis's hand otherwise. "You have a deal" the elf said as he handed Regis a pouch of gold. And with that, the elf whisked off, eager to leave the loud inn. Regis tossed back his shot whiskey and waved the barkeep over, to rent a room for the night.

The golden sunlight of morning drowned Regis's room as he stirred in his bed. He awoke early in the morning like he always had, and washed himself off before he got on the road, for the travel from Delgale to Battlem was already a two day journey. He washed off his face in a cold bucket of water layed out for him, and stared into the dirty mirror by the door of his room. His long black hair was swept behind his ears. He had a thin face, with a scar going down his eye that made most children fear him. It was safe to say he was stereotyped as a criminal wherever he went. But that was the truth He was, at the end of the day, a man that would do almost any job, for a price. Though, at the same time, his small, halfling stature made many underestimate him. And oh how they were proven wrong when they witnessed him in the heat of battle! He would always surprise his enemies with the two daggers he hid in each pocket of his dark brown cloak, and swiftly; clean, quick, his enemies would be at his mercy. That is how it was. That is how it always had been. Regis Kal, wanted in three cities for robbery and murder. No way of fixing his mistakes. After his first few crimes, there was no turning back, for the path of a criminal had no escape. And like the wandering rogue always had; he left for his horse outside the town's stables, and whisked off on to the peaceful trails ahead.

CHAPTER TWO: Battlem

The trails were silent as Regis made his way to Battlem. He had been travelling for hours under the hot sun, with nothing but the 'clip clop' of his horse, to occupy his ears. He continued to trot along the never-ending path until night had very much settled on the land. Then he figured it was best to set up camp along-side the trail. Removing the satchel off the horses side, he laid a quilt on the rough earth by the trail. He saw no point in starting a fire for he was much too tired, and had enough heat while travelling in the day. After only a couple minutes, Regis was fast asleep.

The Halfling's eyes snapped open at the sound of dirt crunching beneath feet. He shot up, daggers drawn, to meet the gaze of two men with weapons of their own. One with a dagger, and the other with a blunt mace. They were the usual scruffy, foul-smelling, human ruffians, with their toothless grins, and obnoxious laughter. He knew what they wanted. This had happened many times before. Mercenaries after the bounty on his head. In a flash, Regis's daggers were at the ready, and his enemies made the mistake that would cost them their lives. They attacked first.

Without any form of strategy, the ruffians charged, and swung their weapons at Regis's head. With a simple duck, Regis was underneath them, and each of his dagger's struck home, opening a huge gash into the side of both of the mercenaries. They grasped there sides, now gushing blood.

"Well fuckin' eh! The midget's got some fight in 'em!" one of them shouted, failing to intimidate the rogue.

The two had been weakened; Regis knew that much, but they did well to hide their pain. So with a quick kick of his feet, he swiftly became one with the darkness...and reappeared behind the two ruffians, silencing them forever.

Regis, after scanning the area for anymore hit-men, awoke the next morning, early as usual, with his loyal horse, Eve, patiently waiting for him to mount. After packing his satchel, he was off once again, still a day's trek from Battlem. The sun was still beating down on him. He was eager to arrive at Port Salem and feel the cool ocean breeze on his face. But after his interception of the Caravan in Battlem, Port Salem was still another two day journey. Regis sighed, and continued on his way to the road near Battlem, where he could finish the job, and relax after giving the product to Keladrin in Salem. "I need a vacation" he muttered under his breath as he continued his journey down the rough, gravel roads.

The next morning, he arrived by the fork in the road that led to Battlem. Here, the rogue was to wait for the trading caravan to innocently make it's way down the trail. He set up camp by the hills next to the trail, pulling a bow and quiver out of the large satchel on the horses side. After starting a small fire, he patiently waited for the hours to crawl bye.

The creak of large wooden wheels finally presented themselves as the sun began to hide behind the horizon. Regis squinted his eyes trying to make out the silhouette of the driver. He only faintly make out his shadow, but he knew that would have to suffice. He scanned the caravan for any other passengers. Nothing. Just a lone man guiding his horses down a gravel road. Regis saw it as a quite peaceful picture. The clip clop of the horses, the echo of crickets, their chirps carried through the cool breeze. Sadly it would have to end. Regis set an arrow onto his bow, pulled back the tough string, and fired the projectile straight at the spokes of the carriage.


End file.
